


The Fulfilling of the Law

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romans 13:10. Love worketh no ill to his neighbour: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fulfilling of the Law

It was well after 2:00 am when Dean returned to Bobby's and, automatically avoiding the creaking boards on the porch stairs, quietly crept inside the house. As quickly as he could, he locked the door behind him and reset the wards his entrance had disturbed. A final line of salt poured across the sill, and he was done. Yawning widely, too familiar with the room's layout to bother with a light, he turned and headed for the hall, rearing back at the last moment as he almost bowled into a dark shape just entering the kitchen.

“Jesus!” Dean gasped. “Sam, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Why the hell aren't you in bed?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” Sam snapped. “But I'm not sure I want to know the answer. I'm hungry, Dean. I was going to grab something from the fridge, if that's okay with you.”

Sam jerked the refrigerator door open, and in the dim glow of its cold light the two brothers stood glaring at one another, matching bitch faces in place. Fortunately, Dean was in too good a mood to hold onto his anger.

“Hand me a beer,” he said mildly. “I'll keep you company.”

Sam's ire deflated in turn. “There's some pizza left,” he offered.

“Thanks.” Dean accepted a generous slice and seated himself at the table, alternating between large bites of the pizza and deep swallows of pale lager.

Sam pulled out a chair to join him and, for a few minutes, they sat in companionable silence as they consumed their snack, only the ticking of a clock disturbing the quiet of the night.

“How'd the research go?” Dean said.

“We hit a dead end. Bobby's got feelers out, touching base with other hunters to see if they've caught scent of anything. No luck so far.”

“That sucks.” Dean picked at the label on his beer bottle and tried to think of a kick ass plan to thwart Crowley. Deeply lost in thought, he raised the bottle to his mouth, the cool slide of the glass suddenly reminding him of cold lips flavoured with the taste of strawberry, and how they warmed and parted so invitingly beneath his own...

“How's Cas?” Sam inquired casually.

Dean only just managed not to choke on his beer. “Good,” he said finally. “Really good. You wouldn't believe it, Sam. Our socially inept angel is now an esteemed member of the community. He's becoming a whole new person.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

Dean frowned. “Happy for him?” he said, puzzled by the question. “How else would I feel?”

“I just thought you might miss the old Cas,” Sam replied.

“He's still there,” Dean said softly. “Some things haven't changed – and some things have changed for the better. I always said he needed to lose the stick up his ass. Now that he has...” He trailed into silence and drained his remaining beer in a single long gulp.

“Now that he has?” Sam prompted.

In the darkness, it was easy to pretend he wasn't having a chick flick moment with his brother. Discussing his _feelings_ , for fuck's sake.

 _When did I become such a girl?_ Dean wondered.

“Dean?”

“We can't keep our hands off each other,” Dean whispered. “It's like... hell, Sam, I don't know what it's like. I've never felt this way before.”

“Dopamine, norepinephrine, endorphins,” Sam said sagely. “And, if I'm not wrong, you can throw a little oxytocin into the mix.”

“Huh?”

“You know what an adrenaline rush feels like?”

Dean nodded. “Racing heart, flushed skin, sweaty palms. Fight or flight.”

“It's a chemical reaction,” Sam said. “Love is like that too.”

“Whoa! Love? Who said anything about love?”

“Lust, then,” Sam conceded. “Dopamine is thought to be the 'pleasure chemical,' producing a feeling of bliss. Norepinephrine is similar to adrenaline and produces the racing heart and excitement. Together, they form a potent emotional cocktail. You know, that crazy 'I can't think of anything but you' feeling? The attraction stage. Endorphins are the flip side of the coin. They create a general sense of well-being, the 'it makes me happy just to be with you' feeling.”

“And oxy-whatsis?”

“Oxytocin. Commonly known as 'the love hormone'. When it's released during orgasm, it begins to create an emotional bond. The more often you have sex with the same person, the stronger the bond with them will become – which could prove interesting, given you and Cas already have that whole profound bond thing going.”

“I am not having this conversation,” Dean moaned.

“You didn't deny you were having sex,” Sam observed.

“Right about now, Samantha, I'm denying I have a brother.”

“So...” Sam said carefully, “does that mean you and Cas haven't had The Talk yet?”

“ _The Talk?_ So help me, Sam, if you mean 'the birds and the bees' I'm gonna have to beat the crap out of you.”

“That's not the talk I meant.”

“Fuck! The 'where do you see this relationship going' talk? Hell, no! We're guys! We don't do shit like that. Why do you have to slap a definition on everything? It just is what it is.”

“Cas is in love with you, Dean,” Sam stated quietly. “He's not out to have a little bit of fun. He wants more than that – he deserves more. You both do.”

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Dean replied, a touch of desperation in his voice. “We're friends. I'd die for him – he has died for me. So, yeah, I guess you could say we love each other. But it's like-love, you know? Not... not...”

“Love-love?” Sam snickered.

“Exactly!” Dean exclaimed. “Not love-love. There's no denying we're... infatuated... and... making a transition from 'just friends' to 'friends with benefits'... But that's it. That's all.”

“Are you sure about that, Dean? I've seen the way he looks at you – the way you look at him. Hell, you kissed the man in front of me! You held his hand! If that's not proof that you're falling in l– ”

“This conversation is over,” Dean said firmly. “I'm going to bed.”

Sam sat alone in the dark kitchen, sipping the last of his beer as he listened to his brother clomp up the stairs. _Friends with benefits,_ he snorted. _Wake up and pull your head out of your ass, Dean._

 

~*~

 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean swore, twisting and turning in hatefully tangled bedclothes. He had bragged too soon to Castiel about how well he always slept after having sex. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind – and it was all Sam's fault. Why the hell did he have to go spouting off about love? Did he think Dean was deaf, blind and dumb as a post? It was glaringly obvious even to the master of denial that Castiel was in love with him. He could see that love in every glance the ex-angel cast his way, he felt love in his every touch, his every kiss...

Dean had never known such unconditional love. It was both awesome... and terrifying.

More terrifying still was the fact that Dean returned that love with every fibre of his being. No matter what gibberish he'd babbled to mislead Sam, the truth lived in his heart. Castiel wasn't a fuck buddy. He was the farthest thing from it that Dean could imagine. He was the love of a lifetime. He was the one Dean had been searching for his whole life. He was helplessly, hopelessly head over heels for the guy.

And that was a secret he wasn't ready to share with anyone. Not Sam. Not even Castiel – especially not Castiel! Hell, he could barely admit it to himself. He wasn't about to get Castiel's hopes up when he didn't know himself if he could handle these overwhelming feelings.

No, all he could do was hide the truth to the best of his ability and give Castiel all of himself that he could give. No promises of forever. Happily ever afters didn't figure much in a hunter's future anyway, especially if that hunter was Dean. But, maybe, if they took it one day at a time, he and Castiel could build a life together. At the very least, he would treasure each day they had. Starting tomorrow – or, rather, starting later today. It was well into Sunday morning. Dawn was but an hour or two away. Soon Castiel would be coming home...

Soon wasn't soon enough.

Dean reached over to the nightstand and picked up his cell phone. Flipping though the entries until the cursor highlighted 'Cas', Dean stared at the little glowing screen. One touch of his finger and he could hear Castiel's voice, rough with sleep, turn deeper still with pleasure as he spoke Dean's name.

Dean took a deep breath, and pressed the call button.

 

~*~

 

“Hello?”

Castiel's voice was every bit as drowsy and gravelly as Dean had anticipated it would be.

“It's me,” he said, his own voice rasping in his throat.

“Dean... Are you all right? You sound... perturbed.”

“I'm fine, Cas. Just fine. I just realized...” Dean trailed into silence.

An answering silence came from the phone.

“I just... Oh hell, Cas... Never mind, I'm being stupid. Go back to sleep. I'll see you tonight.”

“What are you wearing, Dean?”

Dean gave a sharp bark of laughter and clutched his cell phone a little tighter to his ear. “You did not just ask me that,” he chuckled.

“Would you prefer to ask me?” Castiel said. “I was looking though a magazine at the checkout counter the other day. There was an article regarding phone sex, but it was unclear who was supposed to conduct the interrogation. Perhaps, since you called me...”

“What are you wearing, Cas?” Dean said, deciding to play along. This should be entertaining. Role playing was not Castiel's strong suit. At least the trench coat was safely back in the Impala's trunk, so he wouldn't be subjected to a teasing recital of its wonders.

“Nothing,” Castiel replied.

Dean swallowed. “Nothing?” he repeated disbelievingly.

“Nothing,” Castiel confirmed. “I am completely nude.”

“Uh....”

“And aroused. I was dreaming of you when you called.”

“You were?” Dean squeaked.

“I wish you were lying next to me now so I could show you what that dream entailed."

“Uh, Cas...”

“Remove your clothes, Dean.”

Castiel listened as the sound of rustling fabric filtered though the receiver, picturing Dean's T-shirt skimming up across his chest and over his head, his boxer shorts being kicked off, both garments tossed carelessly to the floor. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, patiently waiting until Dean's rapid breathing indicated he had retrieved his temporarily discarded phone.

“Lie down. Place your right hand on my mark,” he ordered.

“Cas...”

“Stroke yourself with the other hand. Pretend that it is me.”

Dean obeyed. The angle was a bit awkward with his right arm snugly crossed over his chest, but his fingers felt so cool and soothing against the sudden fire sweeping through Castiel's brand, that he soon forgot any discomfort as an intense wave of pleasure and longing swept through his body. By the time his left hand stretched down to grasp his cock and give it a few tantalizing strokes, the tip was already leaking, and he knew himself to be close... so very close...

“Cas... Are you touching yourself, too?” Dean moaned, his phone precariously pinned between his shoulder and ear.

“Yes,” Castiel growled. “But it is your hand that I see on my flesh... your touch that I crave...”

“Oh, God,” Dean whimpered, and came.

For a few minutes, as he lay there breathing raggedly, awash in a pleasant afterglow, Dean was oblivious to the pulsing sensation in his arm, the gentle light that emanated from his left shoulder as if a crooked halo was bobbing its way across his skin. But as a sudden surge of sparks triggered a second orgasm, and he heard broken gasps and moans coming from the phone which now rested on the pillow beside his head, panic sank in.

“Cas?” he cried, grabbing up the phone. “Cas!” Visions of tearing across town in his birthday suit and bursting into Father Desmond's house to rescue Castiel from a mojo attack gone awry danced through his mind. He was on his feet, tripping over the trailing bed sheets and staggering for the door, before he registered Castiel's voice calling his name.

“Dean? It's all right, Dean,” Castiel panted. “Distance mitigated the effect... but it was still... a most exhilarating experience.”

Dean leaned his head against the bedroom wall and sighed. “Are you saying that you came, Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel murmured, his breath still hitching in his chest.

“Well... Okay, then. Good work, there. You're a natural at this phone sex stuff.”

“I prefer the real thing,” Castiel grumbled. “I wish to hold you now.”

“Dude, dudes don't cuddle.”

“This dude does,” Castiel said firmly.

“Okay,” Dean whispered. “Okay, Cas. No problem.”

Returning to his bed, he lay back down without bothering to pull up the covers. “Imagine you're lying on your side and I have my arms around you,” he said, drawing a pillow towards him and hugging it tight. “Pretend I'm pressed up against your back, our naked bodies fitting together perfectly. My hand is stroking your chest, my head rests between your shoulder blades. I'm listening to your heart, tasting your skin, trailing kisses up and down your spine...”

He fell asleep with Castiel's gradually slowing, contented breaths gently sounding in his ear.

 

~*~

 

Dean was not at all surprised to find his cell phone battery completely drained in the morning. Plugging it in to charge it, so he would be sure not to miss Castiel's call when he was ready to be picked up, he quickly showered and dressed, claiming the new jade-coloured T-shirt Castiel had taken such a fancy to as his for the day. Clattering down the stairs with a smile on his face and a spring in his step, he was whistling as he entered the kitchen. It wasn't until he saw Sam's mouth twitch with suppressed laughter that Dean became aware of the song he'd chosen: Led Zeppelin's _All My Love_.

 _Oh, shit,_ Dean thought. Followed almost immediately by: _Oh, fuck, why not?_

“All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to you now,” he bellowed as he poured his coffee. He was still humming under his breath as he munched on the toast Sam thrust at him in the vain hope of shutting him up.

 

~*~

 

Castiel moved through his day in a daze, a smile on his face and joy thrumming so loudly through his veins that he was sure everyone must hear the song his heart was singing.

_My beloved is mine, and I am his... His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend... I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me... I would kiss thee... Make haste, my beloved..._

“Dean...” Castiel sighed, his hand slipping to his pocket, feeling the cell phone safely nestled there, the temptation to call Dean astonishing in its intensity. But the cell's battery was low – and Castiel blushed recalling the cause of that. He really should conserve whatever power remained for a more pressing need. Not that the sweet and heavy urgency he felt now wasn't an emergency of sorts, but...

Acutely aware of his sudden state of arousal, Castiel stepped into a vending booth and pretended to be hard at work dismantling its frame. And if anyone noticed his flushed face and shortness of breath, well, they could just put it down to exertion. “Poor Father Novak,” the old dears would murmur. “He works so hard. It must be time for him to have another cup of tea.”

Much, much later, after what felt uncomfortably like ten pots of tea, Castiel made his escape to the homeless shelter and donned an apron as he slid behind the counter.

An endless parade of faces shuffled past, some simply down on their luck, many drunk or hung over, others high or suffering from acute withdrawal symptoms, all aged beyond their years and shrunken in upon themselves with despair.

 _That could be me,_ Castiel thought. _But for the Mercy of God and Dean's generosity, I could be out there wandering the streets, lost and afraid, hurt and alone..._

Castiel tipped a little extra food on each plate that chanced his way. And when the seemingly endless line finally ended and his fellow volunteers began clean-up duty, instead of joining them in the sanctuary of the kitchen and hastening through his chores so that he might slip out early, Castiel removed his apron and left his post to walk amongst the makeshift tables crowded into every corner of the room. A swell of love and empathy blossomed in Castiel's heart as he methodically worked his way though the crowd, laying a hand upon a shoulder here, offering a kind word there. Surreptitiously, he called upon his Grace to heal whatever ailments or injuries were within his power to heal, before moving on to the next poor soul in need, and then the next, and the next... until not a man, woman or child in the room remained untouched by the angel in their midst.

 

~*~

 

The hour was much later than Dean had anticipated it would be when his phone rang and Castiel's number finally appeared. “Hey,” he said, “I thought you'd stood me up.”

“Dean...” Castiel breathed, just the name and nothing more, but Dean felt a wave of such agonized longing sweep though him, that he knew he somehow had to be picking up on Castiel's emotions.

“Are you okay, Cas?”

“I want to come home,” Castiel said. “I want... I need to be with you. Now. Please.”

“Where are you?”

“I am back at Father Desmond's.”

“Fifteen minutes, Cas. I'm on my way.”

Dean bolted from the house without a word to Bobby or Sam, leaving them to stare at each other, brows raised and, in Sam's case, an amused smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. Dean managed to shave at least five minutes off his ETA, went pounding up the walkway, and leaned on the doorbell until a low murmur of voices and footsteps acknowledged his arrival.

Somehow, he and Castiel managed to get through the pleasantries of saying goodbye to Father Desmond, the 'thanks yous' and 'you're welcomes', the 'glad to helps' and 'any times' tripping off their tongues as if their brains were set on autopilot. One last hug from the priest, a final promise to keep in touch, and they were free. Dean picked up Castiel's duffle bag and ushered him down the walk, a warm hand discreetly planted at the centre of his back. As Castiel climbed inside the Impala, Dean sprinted around to the other side and fumbled the key into the ignition.

He had scarcely driven a block when Castiel growled, “Find a place to park, or I'm not responsible for what happens to your car.”

Dean swallowed and stepped on the gas. Cutting through a parking lot he spun left onto South Seminary Road, followed by a quick right turn into a small, dirt track giving access to a golf course. Once the Impala was safely concealed by trees, he cut the engine and turned to face Castiel.

But the ex-angel was already crawling over the bench seat into the back. Rather than bothering to open the car door and go around. Dean followed, trying to be considerate of where he placed his knees and elbows, but Castiel impatiently reached up and grabbed his arm, tumbling them together with a bone jarring thud. Before Dean could draw breath to complain, his mouth fell prey to Castiel's frantic kiss. With no real grounds for protest anyway, Dean surrendered, returning the kiss with such fervour that Castiel's head dropped limply back to the upholstery as he uttered a wrecked moan. Dean ruthlessly attacked the long, bare throat so pleasingly revealed by this move...

As large as the Impala was compared to more modern cars, it wasn't really made for two grown men to be rolling around in the backseat. But Castiel and Dean managed somehow. Eager hands shed clothes, stealing touches anywhere and everywhere they could reach. Avid mouths parted only under the demand of screaming lungs, or as was necessary for fabric to slide between them to reveal another tantalizing glimpse of naked flesh.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” Dean groaned, half out of his mind with pleasure.

An unearthly, impassioned wail tore from Castiel's lips.

“Oh, God!” Dean repeated helplessly, as Castiel's right hand slapped against his brand with enough force to bruise, and his left hand reached down to gather them together, clumsily mimicking Dean's action of the previous day.

And as the car exploded with light, so too did Dean explode, thrusting himself over and over against an answering hardness, his hips jerking into the slick wetness of spilled seed as breath sobbed in his throat and Castiel's murmured litany of “Dean, Dean, Dean...” caressed his ears.

“Cas,” he managed, as sparks slowly faded from his vision and he became aware that the rigid column pressed against his stomach was not the edge of Castiel's hand, as he had thought it must be, but rather his lover was still painfully hard, his body trembling with desire. “Cas,” Dean repeated urgently. “Can I trust you?”

“Yes,” Castiel moaned. “Yes, Dean. Always.”

“I need you to stay as still as you can,” Dean slithered lower down Castiel's chest, until his mouth came into alignment with a cock weeping with pre-come. “You're still glowy all over – all charged up with angel mojo. That means you are much stronger than I am. Don't thrust, or you could hurt me. Do you understand? Let me do the moving for you.”

“Yes... I understand.”

“Okay. Okay, then.” Dean grasped Castiel's cock firmly in his hand and gave an experimental lick up the underside and across the tip.

Castiel gave a full out body shudder, but otherwise remained still.

“Oh, God,” Dean murmured, and quickly swallowed as much of Castiel's overheated flesh as he could manage, bobbing his head up and down upon the shaft in rhythm with his milking of its base. “Oh, God,” he whispered as he briefly paused for breath, his lips hovering just above the glans, his eyes drawn the length of Castiel's torso up to his face, the awe and wonder he saw shining there enough to make his own cock twitch back to life. “Oh, Castiel,” he moaned, and sank his mouth down and down until it could go no farther, glided back up, slid back down... up... down... faster... harder...

“D-Dean!” Castiel gasped... and came.

Dean shut his eyes against the inevitable light show, swallowed what he could and used the rest to lubricate his hand, pumping it lazily up and down the shaft as Castiel shattered into a million pieces and was reformed by his touch.

As violent tremors faded to the occasional quiver, Dean opened his eyes and kissed his way back up to Castiel's mouth.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” he whispered, abandoning Castiel's lips to nuzzle against his ear. “Not that I'm complaining...”

“I had an epiphany today, Dean. Do you know not an angel in Heaven has ever had what I have now? Our Father's permission to walk amongst His greatest creation and touch upon individual lives. Not just to observe and guard and love with a love that is as cold and distant as the farthest star. Not to shape the world into my own little playground as Gabriel and Balthazar did. But to actually understand mankind's pain and suffering, to share their joys and fears, to hope their hopes, dream their dreams... To _feel_ , Dean. To really feel all that it means to be alive... My Father did not punish me, He granted me the greatest reward it was within His power to give. He made me human. He made _this_ possible...”

Castiel wrapped Dean in his arms and kissed him with all the love and passion coursing though his human veins. And then he kissed him some more, simply because he could.

Dean closed his eyes and matched him kiss for kiss.


End file.
